Spirits and Spock
by hatman-and-robin
Summary: Donna convinces the Doctor to take some time to have some fun on Halloween night. After all, what's the harm in a few drinks and a flirt? Doctor x Donna friendship. T for mild language.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: We own nothing. If we did, we wouldn't be writing fanfiction.  
**

* * *

"You know what you need, Spaceman?" Donna announced, apropos of nothing.

The Doctor looked up from where he was tinkering with the TARDIS console and regarded her over the rims of his glasses. He shrugged in response, thinking of nearly four dozen things that he was currently in need of – the most pressing being a new rotor for the flux capacitor conduit. "I dunno. What?"

"A bit of good old-fashioned Halloween fun. Might do you some good."

"Halloween?" he put down his sonic screwdriver and really looked over at her. "Donna, of all the things in the world to see and do and think about, you chose _Halloween?"_

"Oi!" Donna snapped at him. "What's wrong with Halloween?"

"Well, nothing's wrong with it. Not at all. It's a great holiday, started all the way back with… ooh, the Celts? Yes. The Celts – your ancestors – celebrated Samhain, a festival for the end of summer. Although… I suppose if you want to get technical, you can trace it even further back to the Roman festivals of Pomona and Parentalia, which…"

"Ah, shh," Donna cut him off, waving her hands. "You know what? I don't really need to know all that. I'm perfectly fine celebrating the holiday without knowing every last detail."

The Doctor frowned, having been denied his chance to be a profound showoff. Not that it ever impressed her much anyways. Donna wasn't one to be swayed by his astounding intellect. "Whatever put the idea into your mind anyway?"

Donna rolled her eyes at him and held up the magazine that was currently in her hands, the cover of which was littered with pumpkins and phrases such as _"31 tips for a spook-tacular party!"_ and _"10 last-minute costumes for any monster mash!"_ and "_20 ghoulish recipes for any budget!"_

"Oh," he said simply, scratching at the back of his neck. "I see."

"Also, if you'd been paying much attention to the normal Earth calendar, you'd know that it's October 24, exactly one week away from Halloween."

"Donna, we've been in the vortex for weeks and you know that I…" he stopped himself mid-ramble. "Wait. How do _you _know that it's a week to Halloween?"

She held up her wrist, showing him a small watch. "Tells me the date and everything. Just in case I want to know how things are at home, call my granddad… You know."

"Donna Noble you are brilliant," the Doctor grinned.

"Stop it," Donna tutted. "I always wore a watch, as a temp. Never could afford to be late. It became a habit."

"A very good habit at that… So!" he folded his arms and leaned back against the console, crossing his feet at the ankles. "If we were to celebrate Halloween, what exactly did you have in mind?"

"I dunno," it was Donna's turn to shrug. "Reckon we could dress up, crash a party… We're good at that."

"True," the Doctor nodded in agreement. "But what would we dress up as?"

"Whatever you want. I'm sure you've got some things down in that wardrobe. And god knows you love to preen around like a peacock. This holiday is right up your alley, mister."

"Hey, now!" the Doctor looked at her indignantly. "You're one to talk, Miss 'I-can't-go-anywhere-until-my-makeup's-fixed-lest-I meet-an-attractive-man-on-this-planet'!"

"Oi! You never do you know when you're going to meet _the one. _I like to be prepared, thank you very much. And you do spend an awful amount of time on that hair of yours – don't you dare deny it!"

"Fine, fine," the Doctor sighed, holding his hands up in defeat. "Yes, okay. But back to the matter at hand. Costumes."

"I think," Donna said slowly, a devious smirk spreading across her face, "I'm going to keep it a surprise."

"Uh… Donnaaaa!" the Doctor groaned. "Come on now…"

"Nope," she said, miming zipping her lips. "You'll get nothing out of me, spaceman."

"You can't keep a secret to save your life!" he protested, sounding more and more like a whiny child.

"You just wait," she grinned. "And in the meantime, try to come up with a costume for yourself. Can't take you to a party looking like that."

The Doctor looked down at himself. "What's wrong with this?"

"Nothing's _wrong _with it. It's just not… festive. Not Halloween-y. The fun of Halloween is dressing up, pretending to be something you're not, having a few drinks and a flirt with a stranger and just not having the pressure of being yourself for a few hours."

He frowned a bit, brow furrowing in slight confusion. "…But I like being myself."

Donna threw up her hands. "You're hopeless, you know that?!" She closed her magazine with a flap of pages and got to her feet.

"Where are you off to all of a sudden?"

"Got some ideas for a costume I want to try out down in the wardrobe. And don't you even think of trying to spy on me!" she pointed her finger at him.

"All right, I won't! I promise. Cross my hearts," he swore, placing a palm over each of his beating hearts.

"Good. But I'm watching you," she gestured with two fingers to her eyes, then over at him.

The Doctor grinned at her as she left to wander the halls of the TARDIS. Donna Noble – brilliant, mad Donna Noble. She was ever coming up with the most amazingly ordinary ideas… but he had to wonder. Just what sort of trouble had he gotten himself into this time?

* * *

A week passed much faster than the Doctor had anticipated.

True to her word, though, Donna remained silent when asked about her plans for a costume, delighting in lording what power she had over him. "You'll see," is all she would say when he began to wheedle her about it. Usually, her answer was followed by a question of her own, namely, "How's your costume coming along?" To which he would stammer and mutter something about how he needed to go check on the thing in the room with the other thing before she could press him any further.

To be perfectly honest, the Doctor hadn't given it much thought. Sure, he knew that Donna expected him to have some sort of costume, but as to what that was _exactly…_ he wasn't quite certain yet. He had universes and galaxies worth of options to choose from – how could he only choose _one_?

With only a day left until Halloween, the Doctor had headed down to the wardrobe after Donna had gone to bed to spend some time searching for what he could piece together into an acceptable costume. He'd spent hours searching through hundreds of articles of clothing – and he was quite unnerved at the actual _size _of the wardrobe. He didn't remember it ever being that big before. How had it gotten so _large?_ – until he'd spotted it. The Perfect Costume.

He'd been so excited he'd tried it on right then and there, inspecting his reflection in the mirror and admiring how well it fit (because after hundreds of years and ten bodies, there wasn't much in the wardrobe that fit him so perfectly, especially not with as tall and thin as he was now). He'd only needed to add just a few details to finish up his look and with a bit of jiggery-pokery, fashioned himself exactly what he needed to pass off what he thought was a very impressive look. He'd been so proud of himself, he'd almost woken up Donna right then and there to show her what he'd come up with. But that would have ruined the surprise. And most likely would have earned him a slap. Donna didn't take too kindly to being woken in the middle of the night by "skinny alien invaders," as she'd once put it.

But now, on Halloween night (according to Donna's Earth time watch), the Doctor – fully dressed in his costume – lounged on the jump seat in the console room on the TARDIS, waiting for Donna to emerge. He'd already set the TARDIS to land in present day London so all he could do now was wait. She'd gone to get ready almost an hour ago and he wondered what on earth could be taking her so long. It had taken him merely minutes to get dressed in his costume, but perhaps it was just his Time Lord efficiency at work there. But then again, Donna _was _known for taking her time getting ready. Perhaps she had…

His thoughts were interrupted when Donna cleared her throat from the doorway. "Well, what do you think?!"

Donna was dressed in an outfit the likes of which the Doctor had never imagined her in. She was wearing a garment fashioned of shiny green leaves with vines wrapping down each of her arms to settle and gather at her wrists. Her shorts were almost too short and made of the same metallic green fabric. Her eyes were covered in green sparkles and her lips swathed in red. Her hair seemed even redder and cascaded down her shoulders and back elegantly. The Doctor now understood why it had taken her so long to get ready.

Donna tapped her stiletto-heeled boot-clad foot and said, "Well?"

"Poison Ivy, Donna? Really?"

"Really, what? At least I dressed up as something I'm not already!"

"What do you mean?"

"You dressed up as a different space man, Spaceman," Donna said and playfully shoved his shoulder.

The Doctor frowned at her and looked down at himself. He had been so proud of his light blue shirt and black pants. He'd even put away his converse for a pair of slick black boots. He had spent more time than he would like to admit making his hair lay flat and straight across his forehead. He went so far as to attach points to the tops of his ears to complete the look. He thought he'd done a right good job, thank you very much.

"But I like Spock."

Donna laughed.

"You don't like it?"

"No, I think it's great! Just not what I was expecting from you. I was half afraid you'd come out here in a full-fledged Ood costume."

"Well, at least I have trousers on."

"Oi, Time Boy, watch it. It's Halloween! I want to flirt with a stranger… or several."

"Dressed like that, you'll get more than several."

"Good! Now how soon will we be there?" Donna inquired.

The Doctor bounded away from her and jumped around the console. He snatched up his glasses and pushed them up his nose – they looked a bit ridiculous with his new hair style – and pulled a few levers and slapped some buttons before answering.

"Fifteen minutes, tops."

"Lovely! Now, is there any alcohol on this spaceship of yours?"

"I don't really drink."

"That wasn't the question, skinny boy."

The Doctor shook his head and smirked. He ducked under the console and came back up with a small bottle of chardonnay and two glasses, and pointed his sonic at the top.

"What is that? I don't want any frilly shit. I wanna _drink!_"

"This is all I have! With my physiology, I can't get drunk of off Earth liquor."

Donna shook her head but nonetheless took the glass being handed to her. "You and your physiology. You never cease to amaze. You'll just have to drink with me tonight! We'll see if I can't getcha a little tipsy." She elbowed him and winked as the TARDIS lurched, whirred, and stopped. Donna chugged the rest of her glass and smiled hugely. "Well, let's go, Mr. Spock!"

She practically dragged him from the console and out the door onto the streets of London. Everything was lit up in a playful spooky glow. Jack-o'-lanterns and clumps of costumed individuals flocked around every corner. The air was full of the sticky sweet smell of candy, apples, and pumpkins, and perforated by lighthearted screams and laughter.

Donna was bouncing with excitement and the Doctor couldn't help but smile at her. She was like a puppy with a brand new toy, or a kid at Christmas. He had never seen someone react so fondly to such a trivial holiday before.

"I haven't been to a costume party in ages!" Donna exclaimed as they reached the line outside of a bar where the best party in London as about to begin.

They got in with no problem- thanks to the convenience of psychic paper. Once inside, the Doctor took in everything around him. People already smelled very heavily of alcohol. Donna weaved her way through the crowd dragging the Doctor behind her. They finally made their way to the bar and Donna hailed the bartender and ordered two shots of rum, only after heavily flirting with the poor man who was dressed as Robin Hood. The Doctor sighed and took the shot Donna handed to him, grimacing slightly at the sting and subsequent warmth that pooled in his stomach and spread. It had been a while. In fact, the last time he'd had anything stronger than a glass of wine or champagne had been when he was still in his last regeneration. Jack had come back to the TARDIS touting what he claimed was the universe's best vodka and an indeterminable number of shots and a lost game of "Never Have I Ever" later, the Doctor had found himself well and properly drunk. It had been mad and brilliant, just like everything else he'd done with Jack and Rose.

There was a tightness in his chest at the memory of his now-lost companions – Jack's booming laugh and Rose's brilliant smile forever burned onto his hearts. The Doctor set his shot glass down on the wooden bar with a heavy _thunk _and turned to see Donna handing him another drink.

"What's all this then?" he asked, wondering how she had managed to get them more drinks – and substantially larger drinks at that – so quickly.

"Robin Hood over there said he'd buy me a drink in exchange for a dance," she explained, her lips close to his ear so she could be heard over the pulsing beat of the music. "I said he had a deal – but only if he bought a drink for my friend too. Cheers!"

The Doctor clinked his glass with hers and raised it to his lips, taking a sip. He winced as the burning liquid travelled down his throat. To his surprise, this drink was much stronger than the shot she had just given him. "Guh. Donna… What is this?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. But it's not half bad."

"You don't know…? Donna, you can't just go accepting drinks from strangers in tights! You never know what someone might – Oh, here…" He pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and did a quick scan of her drink. "It's clean. But you need to be more careful in the future. On a night like this, with all these people… You never know what might happen."

"Doctor, I'm _fine,_" she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to worry. Just try to have a good time. Enjoy the drink. Talk to a pretty girl."

"Donna Noble, you're the only girl I need."

"You flatterer, you," she teased. "Now, tell me." She set down her drink and fluffed her hair, tugging on her costume, the bright green leaves settling into place. "How do I look? Be honest."

"You look lovely. Your Robin Hood won't know what hit him."

Donna laughed. "Now – I'm off for a dance. Catch up with you later!"

The Doctor took a seat on a nearby barstool and watched as Donna disappeared into the crowd. He followed gleam of her red of her hair shining in the neon lights of the club for as long as he could, eventually losing sight of her and Robin Hood as they found a place on the dance floor somewhere amid the throng of people rocking to the beat. He was happy to see her having such a good time. Donna didn't often take much time for indulging herself, and he was glad that she was enjoying their evening out.

Finding himself alone, despite the sizeable crowd surrounding the bar, the Doctor took a moment to survey the room. Without Donna by his side, he wasn't quite sure what to do. He didn't really feel like dancing, not by himself and certainly not with a stranger; he wasn't quite drunk enough for that. He didn't really see anyone he desperately wanted to talk to, either. Half of the people in the place were already fairly intoxicated or well on their way to being so, and those that remained didn't look like they were interested in having a conversation. Not that they would really be able to hear one another over the din. No, his prospects were not looking good. Not that he was really looking, mind.

He was, however, moderately impressed by the costumes on display. Of course, there were the usual number of Freddy's and Jason's, as well as the customary ghosts and vampires and witches and zombies, but there were some cleverer outfits as well. For instance, Darth Vader stood over by the DJ chatting up a busty pirate who looked more concerned with measuring her cutlass to the size of his lightsaber. And just little further down the bar from him, Batman and Superman were having a lively conversation, or so it seemed. He wondered what would happen if either of them saw Donna in her Poison Ivy getup.

He smiled to himself and took another sip of his drink, noticing that it no longer burned as badly as his first few sips had. Also, he was aware that the warmth that had settled in his stomach had begun to spread, up to his chest and out through his arms to his hands, where his fingers tingled with the most pleasant buzzing chuckled as he rubbed the tips of his thumb and index finger together. Whatever was in that drink of his must have been fairly strong, for he normally wasn't much affected by human alcohol. His Time Lord biology made sure of that. Although, right now, he really didn't mind. He was quite enjoying himself and his drink and people-watching on this bizarre little human holiday.

Just then, he felt a pressure at his left elbow, the warmth of a body leaning against his, slipping into the small space between himself and the man several inches away. The Doctor turned, expecting to see Donna returning for another drink, but was surprised when he found himself shoulder to shoulder with woman dressed in a deep red cloak. Her face was half-veiled by her hood, making it impossible for him to discern the color of her eyes, but even in the dim lighting he could clearly see soft blonde curls escaping her hood and brushing around her shoulders.

"Sorry," she said, sidling up to the bar and crossing her arms in front of her. "It's just so crowded in here tonight."

"It's all right," he responded. "I understand." The Doctor smiled down at her and took a moment to let his eyes wander over her. She was shorter than Donna and more petite. He was quite sure there was a slender frame hidden somewhere beneath the folds of her cloak and matching dress.

"Well, look at you," she smiled up at him, her teeth gleaming and looking impossibly white against her crimson lips. "Very Spo_ck._"

The Doctor froze. There was something about the way the word rolled off her tongue, the way her mouth formed the syllables, the way she emphasized that last consonant sound that made him remember another girl from another time that had blonde hair and called him Spock. His stomach clenched.

"You like _Star Trek?" _he asked casually, forcing himself to stay focused.

In answer, she held up her right hand, her fingers separated in a deep V. "Live long and prosper," she grinned.

The Doctor smiled back in return. "Not bad."

The bartender appeared in front of her then.

"Rum and coke," she ordered. "Make it a double," she winked at the Doctor, who was quickly finding that it was impossible to keep a smile off his face. There was also a warmth stirring inside of him that he couldn't quite attribute to the alcohol either.

"You're Little Red Riding Hood, then?"

"What was your first clue?" she deadpanned, the faint curve of her lips the only thing betraying her playful demeanor.

"Here we are, love," the bartender returned. "That'll be ten quid."

"Here," the Doctor said, fishing a note out of his pocket and setting it on the bar. "I've got this one."

The bartender pocketed the money, not caring who it was that paid him, and moved on to the next paying customer. The girl turned and blinked up at him, a slow smile spreading on her face.

"Well, then. Thanks… Cheers, mate," she raised her glass towards him and lifted her glass to her lips, taking a long drink. The Doctor knew he was staring as he watched a drop of liquid run down the side of her mouth. What was wrong with him tonight? When she finally set her glass down, her lipstick had left a bright stain on the frosted glass. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it.

"You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I know," he replied. "Just trying to be a gentleman."

"Well," she said, delicately tracing the rim of her glass with a finger, her candy-apple red nail polish catching his eye. "And here I thought you were a big bad wolf."

The Doctor almost choked on the sip of drink he'd just taken and looked at this girl again. He still couldn't see her eyes, but her lips… those lips… _no. _

"What did you say?"

"I thought you were a big… bad… _wolf," _she answered, enunciating each word.

His mouth went dry and his hearts skipped a beat. It couldn't be. There was no way. Right?

"Or maybe you're just a wolf in sheep's clothing," she continued.

"What did you say your name was?" the Doctor asked, his mouth still distractingly dry.

She giggled. "I didn't. You didn't tell me yours either."

"No, I didn't, did I? I usually don't," he mused, to himself more than to her.

"Well, tonight isn't a night about names. Wanna dance?" she smiled, her teeth glinting in the strobe lights coming from the dance floor. She held out her hand to him and he took it, leaving his drink on the bar.

Standing was a rush, all the alcohol he'd consumed rushed right to his head and everything warped and fused together for a terrifying moment before separating and becoming normal, albeit a bit more blurry. He wished he hadn't left his glasses in the TARDIS. He was suddenly being dragged across the room, warmth emanating from her hand in his and radiating up his arm and out into the rest of his body. The heat was almost constricting on his hearts. He hoped maybe he would find Donna on the floor. She would put this situation right, help him figure out what was going on, why he was so drawn to this blonde stranger and why he was willing to follow wherever she led. But he couldn't find her, and soon his Little Red Riding Hood was dancing in circles around him, her blonde hair falling and moving and getting caught in the lip gloss on her mouth. The Doctor watched her, swaying awkwardly to the beat, his mind a universe away. This girl looked like his Rose. She smiled like his Rose, she moved like his Rose, and she even _smelled_ like his Rose.

"Come on! Aren't you going to dance, you bad wolf?" She grabbed his hands for a moment and moved them with her before gyrating around him once more.

The Doctor swallowed and clenched his teeth as she rubbed and slid against him. He tried to ignore the fuzzy warm feeling pooling in his lower stomach and making his trousers tight in uncomfortable areas. This was wrong. So wrong. And she wouldn't let that phrase _go. _Big bad wolf. Bad wolf. It was too much.

His throat felt tight and as a server walked by with a tray of small glasses of clear liquid, he took one and poured it down his throat. It stung. He closed his eyes against the tears that involuntarily sprung into them and shook his head vigorously. Bad idea. When he opened his eyes up again, the room was a swirl of color and movement. When his eyes came back into focus and the sick feeling faded from his stomach, it was soon replaced with another.

The girl who had been in front of him just moments ago was now gone.

The Doctor spun around. She was nowhere to be seen in the pulsing and flowing crowd of people dressed in their costumes, and the Doctor was lost. Suddenly, he was alone. He felt it heavy in both of his hearts. He had lost this girl just like he had lost Rose. He had come so close to having someone like her again, and she had disappeared right in front of him. Lost in this crowd, he would never see her again. She might as well be in another universe. A small squeak escaped his mouth and he couldn't breathe. He was alone and lost and confused and god, he was _drunk._ His head swam at every turn and all he wanted was for his breath to come back and his hearts to calm down. And for things to make sense. And Donna. And the TARDIS. And a cup of tea.

"Donna…" he called out quietly, the syllables slurring together slightly. He began to work his way through the crowd slowly, getting entangled in everyone else's limbs as he went. He was starting to feel claustrophobic in the large throng of people. And all he could think of was Rose. Rose smiling. Rose holding his hand. Rose dancing. Rose lost.

His head was spinning horribly by the time he caught a glimpse of the green and sparkles that meant Donna. She was dancing and spinning with Robin Hood on the other end of the dance floor. The Doctor was confused as to how he had gotten so far in the middle of this mess of sweaty, sloppy people and tried to climb out in the direction of his companion. It was proving to be increasingly difficult. Each time he almost got out of the core, the people he pushed through sent him in a different direction, leaving him disoriented and having to search for Donna all over again. As he fought through layer after layer of dancers, his palms and the back of his neck started to sweat. His head hurt and his eyes stung and he was still ever aware of the din his hearts were making inside of him.

He was never going to find Donna. He would never get out to her. Never see her or the TARDIS again. He was going to lose her just like he lost Rose and everyone before her and like he would everyone after her. The people spun around him and he almost lost his balance. But he was finally out. Finally right in front of Donna. He tried to catch his breath enough to call to her, but he couldn't. She caught sight of him first.

"Doctor! Hi!" she smiled and continued dancing, unaware of the dimensions that were exploding inside his head. He still couldn't calm his chest enough to speak. He stood, gaping, wishing he had a drink in his hand and regretting his decision to drink so much simultaneously.

"Are you having a good time? I saw you with that pretty little blonde over there a while ago."

The Doctor thought he might be sick. He just stared at Donna. He didn't trust his voice.

"Oi, alien boy. Are you ignoring me?" She stopped dancing now, and if he had been sober, the Doctor probably would have cringed at the look on her face. She looked about ready to slap him.

"Donna…" He managed to choke out. He couldn't even begin to explain what was wrong, because he honestly didn't know why this was affecting him so much. It was really something so trivial, and he could recognize that. But he could not wrap his inebriated mind around what had happened here tonight.

"Doctor? Is everything okay?"

"I want to leave," his words all came out as one.

"But, _Doctor._ He's bigger on the inside, if you know what I mean," she said out of the side of her mouth, jerking her head in the direction of her Robin Hood who was taking a shot off of a tray.

"Donna," he squeaked. Distantly, he hated himself for how small and pathetic his voice sounded. "Please."

Donna looked at him, suddenly serious. The Doctor could sense that she now knew how intoxicated he was and that something was amiss.

"What's wrong?"

"Noth-…I don't… I just. Need to leave. Can we go?"

Donna took the Doctor's hands and looked him in the eyes. He couldn't focus on hers. "Okay. Let's go."

She led the Doctor out of the throng of people and through the bar, away from the man she had been dancing with without even saying a word.

* * *

They made it out into the brisk night air, Donna practically dragging the Doctor behind her. A few steps away from the bar and the bouncers, and the Doctor could not go on anymore. The cold air stinging his lungs, he all but collapsed against the wall of a building. He slid limply down the chilled stone wall, Donna helping him down and kneeling in front of him. She looked at him as he shut his eyes and breathed heavily, his hair askew and one of the points of his ears missing.

"You're okay. Just breathe, Spaceman, and tell Donna what happened."

He shook his head, gasping, fighting a wave of nausea. "I can't… I can't. I… I'm going to be sick."

"What? Now?! …Not on me!" Donna shrieked, jumping back just as he turned his body to the side and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk.

The Doctor coughed and gagged as all the alcohol he'd consumed in the past few hours violently made its way out of his body, his stomach clenching and making every part of him ache. He was distantly aware of Donna's hand on his back, soothing him as he made an utter fool of himself. She crouched by him, waiting until he had finished heaving and fell back against the wall once more, bits of sick on his chin and dribbling down the front of his beloved Spock costume.

"Doctor, we need to get you back to the TARDIS," Donna said gently. "Do you think you can make it?"

He gave a small nod and took her outstretched hands, grateful for the help as she pulled him to his feet. The shift in equilibrium caused him to stumble and he swayed heavily, pitching forward, but Donna was ready and counterbalanced him, keeping him upright by throwing her arms about his waist.

"Steady there, alien boy! It's a good thing you're as thin as you are. Otherwise, we'd both be on the ground."

The Doctor groaned, feeling too awful to even pretend to be insulted. They slowly made their way to the TARDIS, the Doctor leaning on Donna for support as he staggered the few blocks to where his ship awaited them. He'd never been so glad to see her in all his life.

Once inside, Donna immediately took him straight to his room, depositing him on his bed and helping him off with his boots. He felt like a child, but he could only nod gratefully, his fingers digging into the duvet the only thing keeping him from slumping over.

"There," she said, setting his foul-smelling boots as far away from them as possible. "If I go get you a glass of water, you think you can get yourself out of this?" She pointed with a finger at his costume. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, his eyes taking longer to focus and everything swimming in his field of vision.

"Ye… yes," he said, trying to convey more conviction than he felt at the moment.

"Right then. Be back in jiffy."

Once he was alone, the Doctor slowly took off his sick-covered costume and flung it over to the far side of the room, pulling on a fresh shirt and pair of loose-fitting sleep pants. That monumental task being accomplished, he fell back onto his bed, curling up on his side. He felt absolutely terrible. His stomach felt all wibbly-wobbly, his head was pounding, and there was a horrible taste in his mouth. He closed his eyes and silently swore to himself that he would never, ever drink alcohol again.

At least not until he regenerated out of this skinny, lightweight body.

* * *

The next time he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of Donna standing over him. She, too, was no longer dressed in her costume, but her pajamas and robe.

"Drink this," she said, holding out a glass of water. "Little sips."

The Doctor did as he was told, wincing at the coldness of the water. It flashed right down to his stomach, bringing with it a fresh wave of nausea. He handed the glass right back to her and lay back against the bed, closing his eyes against the spinning of the room.

He heard Donna set the glass on the nightstand and felt the dip of the mattress as she sat near the foot of the bed.

"You were asleep by the time I got back. I didn't have the heart to wake you right away," Donna explained. "How're you feeling?"

"Awful," the Doctor groaned. He was embarrassed that she had to see him in this state, but to tell the truth, he wouldn't have wanted any of his other companions to see him in this state. It wasn't exactly flattering for a 900 alien to be piss drunk in bed.

"What happened there tonight?"

"I was just being stupid, Donna."

"Didn't have anything to do with that blonde Little Red Riding Hood, did it?"

The Doctor shut, hoping to hide the sudden tears that sprang to them. "Donna, I don't even know what to say."

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything. I know."

She _did_ know, the Doctor realized. Donna wasn't stupid. In fact, she was brilliant, despite how she so often talked down to herself. She knew enough to recognize what must have happened, knew how to put one drunken Time Lord together with a pretty blonde and come up with two aching hearts.

"I'm sorry," Donna said suddenly. "This was all my fault."

"What?" his eyes snapped open, seeking out her face and finding her downcast and guilty expression. "Donna… no."

"It was. I was the one who wanted to go out and have a few drinks. I left you on your own and look what happened. I'm supposed to be there for you and I wasn't. I'm sorry."

"Hey," the Doctor reached out for her hand, grasping it on his second attempt. Damn his still-inebriated reflexes. "This wasn't your fault. I made my own decisions where the drinks were concerned. And everything else for that matter."

"Yeah… but we both know you make decisions differently when you have someone there to stop you."

The Doctor felt a pang of shame shoot through him.

"I'm sorry!" Donna said, suddenly realizing what she'd just said. "I didn't…"

"No, it's okay. You're right. I just… I wasn't thinking. And then that girl…" he brought his hands up and rubbed at his eyes, as if to erase the memory from his mind.

"Who was she?" Donna asked, concern on her face.

"I don't know," the Doctor sighed. "I never got her name. Not that it mattered. She disappeared. Literally disappeared somewhere. It was the strangest thing…"

"Well, perhaps it was for the best," Donna said gently. "Who knows? Perhaps _she _was the wolf."

The Doctor's eyes widened, and he felt himself pale. For a long, terrible moment, he thought that he might be sick again, even though he wasn't sure there was anything left in his stomach.

"Doctor? Doctor, what's wrong?" Donna scrambled, not realizing what she had said to make him suddenly upset. "Was it something I said? Doctor? What's the matter? All I meant is that you might have saved yourself a lot of trouble, getting tangled up with her. Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," the Doctor shook his head, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, his sudden nausea already beginning to fade. He'd never told Donna about Bad Wolf. There'd been no need to. She hadn't known the implication of her words. It was all in his head. That's all. All in his foolish, inebriated brain.

"Nothing. Like, really nothing? Or nothing, like 'you just don't want to talk about it' nothing?" Donna pressed.

"Just nothing, Donna. Really," he said, punctuating his words with a yawn, a very real yawn at that. He was suddenly exhausted, both from the alcohol he'd consumed and the emotions that had run rampant this evening. He settled down once more, lying flat on his back. Donna stood and pulled the duvet up and over him, tucking him in as if he were a child. For once, he didn't mind her coddling him like this.

"You okay now?"

"I think I'm going to be," he replied. "Thanks to you, Donna. You gave up your Robin Hood and everything."

"Not what was important," she shrugged, waving her hand. "There's always another Robin Hood out there. Besides, you'd do the same for me."

"I'll make it up to you," he mumbled sleepily. "Take you back to meet the realRobin Hood..."

"Oh, this one would have been _real _enough for me," Donna assured him as she crossed over to the doorway, flipping off the lights. "But don't think I won't forget you owe me one."

"All right, all right… G'night, Donna."

"Goodnight, Spaceman," she said softly. "Sweet dreams."

"Or no dreams. No dreams are good dreams," he murmured, closing his eyes and hoping that his mind would be mercifully blank tonight. He'd had quite enough terror for one evening. The last thing he needed was to close his eyes and see ghosts from his past.

He'd seen enough specters for one Halloween night.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews always appreciated! :)**


	2. Epilogue

It's dark, late when she makes her way home. She keys into her flat only to be greeted by darkness. She leans heavily on the door as she closes it behind her, resting there for a moment. She close her eyes against the pulsing she still feels in her head. Even before she'd left, she'd known that going out tonight would be bad decision, but she'd done it anyway. Still, she can't bring herself to regret it, not a single moment. She pushes away from the door, making her way through the dark flat to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothing in her wake. Her red cape flutters to the ground soundlessly.

She looks in the mirror. She barely recognizes herself – perfect curls, dark makeup, red lips and cheeks and nails. She looks beautiful, predatory, every bit like a wolf, a huntress. No wonder he hadn't recognized her. And why should he have? After all, it was dark and he was more than a little intoxicated. Uncharacteristically so. Perhaps he'd changed more than she'd thought. The man she'd known would never have gone to a bar – let alone with another woman – looking for nothing but a good time. Yet the man she'd seen tonight had been perfectly willing to flirt with her - a purported _stranger_ – to take her hand and let her lead him away without so much as a moment's hesitation. He'd been willing to dance – the Doctor, _dancing _—and that should have been enough of a cue that something was wrong.

But maybe _she _was the one who had been wrong. Maybe he hadn't missed her as much as she thought, as much as she missed him. Maybe he had finally gotten over her. It certainly seemed that way. All those times she had mentioned Bad Wolf… Nothing. No reaction. Maybe that phrase had meant something before, but they were just words to him now, now that she was out of his life. Maybe that's all they'd ever been – words. Words that meant something to her, but nothing to him. Maybe he'd never really cared at all.

She slams her fists on the wooden surface of the vanity, making the entire thing shake. How could she have been so stupid? She looks up into her reflection again to see angry tears forming in the corners of her eyes, falling and smudging her meticulously applied makeup. She knows she has wasted her time and energy, and _time energy_ on something that she never should have fooled around with. She picks up a brush and starts combing out her curls, picking out bobby pins and throwing them to the floor as if they were burning her fingers.

A sob breaks from her chest and she wants to take back every word she has ever said to him, to get back every feeling he has ever taken from her. She feels hurt, feels lied to, betrayed. All she had wanted was to see him again, even if for a moment, for a chance to see him during the time they'd been apart. She had just wanted the chance to tell him it would all be all right, to comfort him, to let him know that everything would turn out fine in the end. That's all.

But he hadn't recognized her at all. Not even for an instant.

Her blood boils in her veins, and she cries harder, hating herself for making such a colossal mistake, hating him for not realizing what she had done. Hating _him_ for lying to her all this time. Yes, right now she is most angry at him, her Doctor, the one with the single heart, the one who stayed. In their time together in this universe, he has told her many things about the time they were apart, the big and the small, about the adventures he'd had, about Martha Jones and Donna Noble, about how much he'd missed her, about how he'd always loved her, _always_. Had those been nothing more than pretty lies? Just the words he'd thought she wanted to hear? Perhaps all this time he has been lying to her about everything, about wanting to stay with her, about how much he loves her.

Anger clouding her thoughts, she doesn't know what to think. Wiping away her tears, she takes a deep breath and tries to be rational, for just a moment. Of course she believes he missed her. He must have. He'd been so devastated to lose her, and so relieved to see her. This she knows for a fact. She'd seen it on his face – the Doctor's face, before he had split into two men who were the same but oh so very different. So he had missed her. That hadn't been a lie. And it isn't that she wanted him to be miserable without her, it's just that it was such a shock to see him so willing to flirt with a stranger, so willing to move on when she spent all those years in misery trying so hard to get back to him.

But it's not fair to blame this him, she knows, the Doctor sleeping in her bed. He is not the same man. He is not the one who has hurt her. He is everything to her now, everything she ever wanted and more. She has let him so fully into her life and her heart, this Doctor who loves her, who is not afraid to tell her he loves her or go to dinner at her parents or go trick-or-treat with Tony or make love to her like she'd only dreamt he would.

No. This man has not lied to her. He loves her with all of his single, human heart and he would never do anything to hurt her. That she believes without question. Yet even as she absolves him, feels her anger slipping away, guilt and shame rises within her.

In crossing universes, she has put the fabric of reality in peril. Though this is not the first time she's done so, she cannot compare it to the last time she sought the Doctor. Everything had been in danger then – every world – and she had needed to find him not just for herself, but for everyone. Last time, she had used the resources of Torchwood and a team of specialists to ensure her safety. This time, she had used a confiscated vortex manipulator and relied on nothing more than blind hope to reassure her that she would end up in the right place in the right time. By all standards, it is nothing short of a miracle that she has made it there and home again. What's even more astounding is that she hasn't irrevocably damaged the whole of time and space. That she knows of.

For the first time she is afraid, of what she has done, of how he will react. She knows that travel between the universes is forbidden, and that he will be both hurt and horrified that she would do such a thing, knowing the potential repercussions. She also knows the danger of what she's done this night – she's risked a paradox, crossing into his timeline like that. She doesn't know how she'll ever be able to explain to him what she's done, wonders if she even has to. If she has altered his timeline… She had known where he would be because of a memory he'd shared with her, of a Halloween spent with Donna at a club in London. But will he remember the night differently now, when he wakes, when prompted? Will remember meeting a lovely blonde with smoky eyes and a predator's smile? If she doesn't tell him, will he ever know?

The weight of her action rests in her stomach like a stone, a sinking heavy burden that she fears will fill her up and swallow her whole. She doesn't want to keep this a secret from him, but she doesn't know how to tell him either. Maybe she can just wait. Wait and see how it plays out. If he asks. Why would he ask? Will he know? Will he be able to smell the time travel on her, taste the void stuff that must be clinging to her skin?

She has a desperate, sudden urge to shower, to cleanse herself of everything she's done tonight, to erase it. She knows she can't, knows what she has done is permanent. There is no way to change things, not anymore. She has to live with what she's done. They all do – she, the Doctor, and her Doctor.

She feels tired, then, all the way down to her bones. She just wants to sleep, forget that this happened for at least one more night. In the morning she will face the reality of what she's done, but not now. Not now. She decides against the shower, unsure she has the strength to stand upright for that long, and settles for washing her face and hands. In the pale light of the bathroom, she looks impossibly old and tired, nothing like the huntress who stalked the night just an hour ago. She strips off her clothes and stuffs them in the hamper, hiding all evidence of her outing. She'll do the laundry in the morning. He'll never realize.

Shutting off the bathroom light, she steals quietly into the bedroom, grabbing one of his discarded t-shirts and slipping it on. Skinny as he is, it is still quite big on her, oversized and soft and smelling of him. The familiar comfort is more than she thinks she deserves, but she needs it right now, some sort of reassurance that things are going to be all right, that she hasn't fucked everything up.

She reaches the bed and finds him exactly as she left him, sprawled out in the adjacent bedroom, fast asleep. She leans against the doorway and takes a moment to study him. He lies on his back, one arm flung out, and his hair in wild disarray, partially from sleep and partially from their earlier, _amorous_ activities. She feels a sharp pang of regret for what she has done tonight. How could she put any of this, of their life, of _him, _in danger? She is more selfish than she ever knew.

As gently as possible, she pulls back the covers and lies down beside him, tense, waiting to see if he'll notice. He does. Almost immediately, he stirs, rousing and reaching for her. He rolls towards her and pulls her back against his chest, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Rose?" he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. "Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere important," she whispers back, hoping he can't feel the racing of her heart, her treacherous pulse beating out a lie. "Just go back to sleep."

"Okay," he sounds content and his stubble feels like sandpaper as he nuzzles into her shoulder, dropping a kiss on her smooth skin. "I love you."

Tears fill her eyes as guilt floods her veins, stopping her heart and smothering her breath. He still loves her. Despite all she's done this night and all the things she may have changed, he still loves her. Always has, always will. She doesn't deserve him, she knows. Knows it deep down in her bones and the knowledge is a weight she will carry with her for the rest of her life.

"Love you too," she manages.


End file.
